24 Preparations

The Duke's chin nestled atop of Dione's head, her hair tickling his chin. He patted her back in a smooth, easygoing rhythm, allowing the woman in his arms to pour her woes onto him in silence.

"Look at me," Azriel spoke softly but his tone carried hints of an order that could not be defied. He gently raised her chin with his thumb propped underneath, his worried reflection in her glassy gaze framed by long, damp eyelashes. "Ulterior motives may have brought forth our union but know that I am not a man that does things half-heartedly. I may not be able to promise you a marriage of love but I can swear to you that you will never suffer like you have within these walls."

Dione's heart thumped in her chest as she swallowed the Duke's heavy gaze, drowning in the depth of his sincerity.

"Remember, I am your husband and your unwavering shield. Use me as you see fit, wield me like a weapon in your hands—I vow to strike down anyone who stands in your way." Azriel's words weren't empty reassurances; they were a pledge he would uphold as long as she permitted. "Soon, all of this will be a distant memory. Just endure a bit longer, my bride."

Dione fluttered her eyes downwards, unable to bear looking into this man's deep gaze any longer for fear that he would engulf her whole. "Why do you treat me so well?" She muttered softly. "I doubt you are the type of man to blindly follow the will of the Gods. You do not have to concern yourself over me."

It was obvious that his words touched a part of her heart and made her appreciate him more. There was nothing she could give him in return that wasn't trouble and yet he protected her fiercely.

"Regardless of how you may think of me, would I still be a man if I did not do this little for the woman who will be my wife?" The Duke dropped his head down, the heat from his breath tickling her ear as he whispered to her. "Or maybe you will become more if you so wish it?"

Princess Dione's face flushed and she suddenly became hyperaware of the closeness of their bodies together and the fact that the Duke bore no shirt. She quickly released herself from his arms, taking a few steps back until there was a wide space between them.

"You wish." She huffed, patting the remaining wetness on her cheeks away.

For a moment, Dione almost believed that Azriel genuinely desired her as his wife. But she wasn't naive, understanding that this was merely a contractual marriage with a three-year time limit. There were no emotions involved, just mutual exploitation for their own gains.

Three years—just three years, and then she would be truly free.

Azriel chuckled softly at her shy antics, a part of him relieved that she seemed to be feeling better. "Do you remember the preparations that I mentioned earlier? I had a seamstress make a custom engagement dress for you, she should be on her way to drop it off now."

"Oh, yes," Dione nodded, her thoughts returning to the matter at hand. "But nobody in my palace was informed of the engagement ball. How did you manage to have a custom dress made without my measurements?"

Azriel smirked. "Do you think I couldn't get something as simple as your measurements, your highness?"

Dione wanted to feel grateful, but the mischievous glint in his eyes sent her mind spinning. Something clicked in her head as his gaze lingered on her chest. She grabbed a random object from the desk and hurled it at him, her face burning bright red. "You pervert!"

He dodged the attack quite effortlessly, that playful expression never leaving his face. "Where is your mind headed? I simply meant that I contacted the shops that have tailored your gowns before and confirmed your measurements with them."

"…You did it on purpose!"

"Yes, yes, I'm the villain here," he teased. "Now, off you go, Your Highness. Time waits for no one."

The Princess hummed in agreement, knowing that Marianne would need all the time she could get to prepare her for such a significant engagement ball. She hurriedly bid a quick farewell to the Duke, not daring to meet his gaze a second time.

As the bedroom door clicked shut, Azriel's playful smile faded, and his countenance grew pale. He stumbled over to the desk, swaying dangerously, and nearly toppled over.

He rummaged through the drawers for a familiar bag—the same bag that Emperor William had thrown at his feet just days ago. Turning the bag over, a handful of unseemly pills tumbled into his hand, which he hastily swallowed with a glass of water.

"Heh..." The Duke sighed, slumping into his chair, appearing utterly drained. He looked nothing like the strong, vibrant man he had been moments ago.

Azriel's sigh echoed through the room, a mixture of weariness and hidden turmoil. His usually firm posture had crumbled, revealing the weight he carried on his shoulders.

He knew he couldn't afford to let anyone see this side of him. Not Dione, and certainly not his enemies - Emperor William was already a dangerous man to hold his weakness. He had a role to play, a façade to maintain as the powerful and heartless Duke Devland. 

Azriel ran a hand through his tousled hair, a mask of composure returning to his face. He had to keep this part of his life hidden, even from the woman he was bound to in this contractual marriage. She couldn't know his vulnerability, for the moment he showed weakness, he risked losing everything.

The Duke took a deep breath, composing himself once more. He was a man of power and influence, and his strength had been his currency. He couldn't let that falter now, especially not at this moment when Dione needed him the most.

While he had been honest about the nature of their marriage, the protection he offered Dione was sincere. She might doubt his motives, but Azriel couldn't deny the growing sense of responsibility he felt toward her. They were partners in this elaborate scheme, and he intended to ensure her safety and success, at least for the next three years. If it meant shielding her from the complexities of his life and keeping her in the dark then so be it.

The only thing that mattered was keeping her safe.